


Icecream

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 22:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12022428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sharing a hotel bed, Victor presses the issue.





	Icecream

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning that I’ve only watched it once and know nothing of figure skating. Special thanks to pttucker for proofing. ♥
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri on Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s exhausted by the end of the long day, as much emotionally as physically—the last-minute practice was a grind, but seeing all his friends and trying to fit in time with each of them was just as difficult, especially when he kept having brief glimpses of just _Victor_ and _wanting that._ That’s what’ll really help his program. His inspiration, his motivation, his muse—if he could just have the rink with Victor again, just the two of them, he knows he could put on a show worthy of besting anyone’s record.

And by the time they finally are alone, waiting in the elevator of the hotel, Yuuri has no energy left to enjoy it. He finds himself almost nodding off on his feet, just short of his head resting on Victor’s shoulder, but then he straightens out again and bites back his yawn. 

The flashing numbers pause on ‘six,’ and Victor tells him, “This is it.” Then Victor’s marching out before Yuuri’s ready.

It isn’t until they’re strolling down the hall that he thinks to ask, “Wait, weren’t we on seven?”

“We _were_ on seven, but there was a problem with our booking, and we’ve been moved.” He says it so casually, as he does most things, even though Yuuri’s never been shuffled about _after_ checking in like that. Just as he remembers his luggage, Victor chirps, “And they moved our bags for us. Isn’t that nice?” He pauses at a new door, fishing in his pocket for the keycard, and Yuuri just sort of dazedly accepts the change. This is what coaches are for, after all—to look after these things.

The door pushes open, and Victor marches inside. Yuuri slips in to shut the door, listening for the telltale click of the lock, and kicks off his shoes. It’s a mark of how tired he is that he doesn’t start looking for a fridge, instead beelining for the bedroom. His luggage is already there, stacked neatly beside the single bed, before he realizes that it is _just one bed_ , and he didn’t see any other bedroom. 

He pales, staring at it. He can feel Victor coming up beside him. “Ah, I see. This is why they refunded some of our money. Oh well; what’s done is done. And we can share, can’t we?” Victor doesn’t wait for a response—he’s already walking around to take a seat on one side, stripping off his jacket. 

Because Yuuri knows it won’t stop at just the jacket, he deliberately turns away. He rushes to his suitcase, bending down to fish inside for pajamas, while he wonders frantically if he should answer Victor’s rhetorical question. He feels like they _shouldn’t_ share—it’ll only complicate things—but their relationship is all one big complication, and what else are they going to do? He’d never be able to sleep on a couch knowing he had the option to be _in bed with Victor_. And he doesn’t suppose Victor’s going to volunteer for the couch, nor would Yuuri trust him to stay there. 

He takes his pajamas to the attached washroom, both loving and hating the image of Victor stripping down in his peripherals. It’s a gorgeous temptation he doesn’t need. Of course, a part of him whispers that he _does_ need it, and maybe he could have it. Surely by this point they have _something_. Victor’s so good to him...

But Victor’s like that with everyone. Victor’s so open with everyone. And Victor has a whole life outside of him—a career in another country...

Yuuri swallows the lump in his throat and tells himself _not now_. He’s got a competition to win, and this kind of romantic roller coaster kills high-pressure programs all the time.

By the time he’s wandering back into the bedroom in loose pajamas, carrying the rest of his folded clothes, Victor’s under the sheets. He’s got the lights off, but the wide window overlooking the busy city lets in enough starlight to show off the bare skin that peaks out. Covered to his shoulder, Victor’s cradled in the blanket. His long lashes are down against his cheeks and his silver hair’s spread out about his pillow, looking just as silk-soft as it always does. Yuuri tries not to stare: a familiar struggle. 

He picks his way around to the other side and slips under, trying to move the mattress and sheets as little as possible; he doesn’t want to disturb Victor. He stays on his side, facing the window and away from the rest of the bed. He knows he won’t be able to let himself roll over all night, and that’s going to be a pain. But a necessary one. He can’t have this in his head tonight, because he can’t face the aftermath tomorrow.

He’s barely been in bed for half a minute before Victor’s sidled up to him. He can feel the bed indenting, hear the sheets shifting, and then an insatiable _warmth_ is at his back, pressing up behind him—a long arm drapes around his middle, lithe legs thrust against the back of his own. He can feel Victor’s knees bracing his, feel the tickle of Victor’s hair against the back of his neck. He can vividly remember when it was longer, and he always longed to run his fingers through it. He still does. Victor murmurs against his shoulder, “Are you attracted to me?”

Yuuri’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He feels like it’s obvious. His heart must be beating so loud that surely Victor can hear it, or maybe feel it right through his flimsy clothes. He tries not to think about the weight nudging at his backside. The ghost of Victor’s breath along his shoulders makes him shiver. When Yuuri goes too long without answering, Victor presses closer. He tightens his hold, cocooning entirely around Yuuri’s trembling body, muttering, “ _Yuuri_...” His thick accent, so intrinsic even to that one word, is like honey in Yuuri’s mouth. He _still_ isn’t used to hearing it in person. 

Yuuri grumbles under that, under the firm insistence in Victor’s tone, and he breathes, “Yes.” He finds that he can’t lie. 

“Then how come you never do anything?” Victor almost sounds _disappointed_.

After a few seconds of feeling so dizzy he might faint, Yuuri starts squirming. Victor loosens his hold just enough for Yuuri to turn around in his arms, still held close, but he needs to see Victor’s eyes for this. He can’t believe they’re going to do it _now_. In _bed_. With Victor utterly naked, right down to where their thighs are interlocked, and Yuuri can feel Victor’s length right through his clothes. 

Yuuri feels like there’s a lot to say. This conversation was a long time in the making, but looking into Victor’s eyes just makes him dizzier. Victor shuffles impossibly closer, letting their noses bump together, and Yuuri’s eyes flicker down to Victor’s lips. He licks his own. 

And the next thing he knows, they’re _kissing_ , pressed right up against one another, soft and warm and exhilarating beyond his wildest dreams. They’ve kissed before—victorious and accidental—but this one’s deliberate, different than the ones on the ice, because for once, it doesn’t have a single thing to do with skating and is just about _them_.

When Victor finally moves away, he gives his plush lips an exaggerated lick and murmurs, “Mmm. I’ve been waiting for that for a while.”

Feeling like an idiot, Yuuri numbly asks, “Really?”

“Yes, of course. You couldn’t tell?” He’s smiling with less of a laugh than usual, more kindly. 

Yuuri mutters, “I just... I don’t know, I thought that might just be the way you were...”

“What way?”

“Easy?” Yuuri immediately clamps his mouth shut after saying it, full of regrets, and Victor falls into a stern glare that makes Yuuri want to fall over himself with profuse apologies.

But before he gets the chance, Victor’s harsh look dissolves into a laugh, and he pokes forward to playfully nuzzle against Yuri’s face, chuckling, “You’re so cute.”

Yuuri’s... a little overwhelmed. He just sort of stares back at Victor, _happy_ beyond words. Victor gives him another quick peck on the lips, then one on his cheek, fingers reaching up to curl beneath his chin and tilt him into another kiss. On this one, Victor’s tongue slips out to drag across Yuuri’s bottom lip, and he opens wider, wondering if they’ll really _do_ something now, because he can feel that Victor’s at least a little hard, and sharing a bed with Victor already had him twitching and wanting, but then he dares to move his hand to Victor’s hip and—

Victor pushes him back, laughing, “No more, now. You’ll need your energy tomorrow, yes?”

Yuuri tries to protest, but it’s too late. Victor starts pushing him, guiding him to roll right back over, to face the window again. Victor latches on like before, spooning him tight. With both arms now locked firmly around Yuuri’s middle, Victor promises, “There are always other nights—like after you win me tomorrow’s gold medal.”

Yuuri groans. He should’ve known Victor would be an awful tease. And he should’ve known he’d love it anyway. 

He loves Victor anyway. He knows that. He thinks Victor does too, and, in retrospect, it feels foolish that it took a hotel mix-up to force that issue. Not that Victor couldn’t have just nakedly attached to Yuuri’s back any time. And for all he knows, Victor changed the rooms on purpose. 

Victor tugs at the neckline of Yuri’s nightshirt to press a kiss against his bare shoulder, and Yuuri obediently closes his eyes. 

He has excellent dreams of dancing on a lake of frozen stars, Victor still warm in his arms.


End file.
